Surrounded by Heathens

Choir:

“Lord, forgive the lost and the broken…”

“Raise the fallen, but don’t spare the chosen…”

They chained the prophets to pavement and told ‘em pray for rain.

But we don’t beg, we bleed.

We don’t talk peace, we talk revenge through faith.

I was raised by the sirens, born in the smoke,

Where the preachers sell truth just to cover they dope.

Where the weak don’t eat and the bold don’t sleep,

And your word mean death if your promise too cheap.

I’m that fire in the lungs of the block still breathin’,

Every scar on my skin, proof I’m still teething.

They told me kneel, I told ‘em hell naw,

I bend rules, not knees, ‘til the devil withdraws.

Yeah, I seen angels with blood on they sleeves,

God on the corner like, “Who still believes?”

I seen prayers get swallowed by greed,

And hope turn to powder, cut and then bleed.

Every step I take sound like thunder and reason,

I ain’t holy, but I’m still God’s heathen.

Try to drown me, but I walk on flames,

If death call my name, I’mma spit propane.

(Choir moaning in the background, raw and sorrowful)

I’m surrounded by heathens,

But they ain’t leavin’, breathin’,

Number of shots steady increasin’,

Chalk lines the memories of friends who believed in me.

I’m surrounded by heathens,

Demons in the bleachers, schemin’,

Every prayer’s a weapon, I’m bleedin’,

But faith’s the blade, yeah, I’m still breathin’.

I write pain on the wall with a bullet for ink,

Every line that I drop make a coward rethink.

Ain’t no peace where the wolves still feed,

Ain’t no crown where the dirt still bleeds.

I done seen friends fold like church fans,

Watched kings lose thrones over work plans.

I’m a product of scars and survival codes,

My faith ain’t soft, it’s forged in the cold.

I’m that psalm that never made the book,

That look in a killer’s eyes right before he shook.

That prayer that rose while the block still cooked,

That fear that fades when the reaper’s hooked.

You want light? Then stand in my flame.

You want truth? Then bleed my name.

I’m the hymn that the lost still hum,

I’m the war cry that the saints won’t shun.

(Choir rises, louder, voices breaking with pain)

I’m surrounded by heathens,

Still breathin’, believin’,

Number of shots steady increasin’,

But death can’t claim what the Lord’s redeemin’.

I’m surrounded by heathens,

Demons screamin’, dreamin’,

Still I walk where angels fear steppin’,

’Cause the faith in me ain’t needin’ blessin’.